


Instead Of Dancing Alone, I Should Be Dancing With You

by coefore



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10078616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coefore/pseuds/coefore
Summary: “Fierce.”The only word to come out from his mouth. George felt the need to prove himself not subdued to that man’s off-putting aura.“What is?”Vamp brushed his beard with his thumb and index, smiling. The lights pointed all to the stage as Helena was introduced to the audience; the club now moving on the jazzy notes of her saxophone.Various colours shifted on the walls and the floor. One beam of purple light shone on George’s face, as he kept his stern look, staring at a now completely shadowed Vamp, whose expression he couldn’t really make out.“You.”The light on him changed to red. It all felt as if he was harmless in front of a monster, battling it with his bare hands.





	1. monologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the first prompt of the mgs rarepair week: awkward situations.  
> I've been mostly listening to She Wants Revenge, so if you want to look them up while reading the fic they're probably a suitable music background. This feels like an odd continuation of "All is dream, Everything is real" lol.
> 
> The title comes from this song's lyric:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gjYe61lkOI
> 
> The cover art is by me.

                                        

 

The muscles in his arms, tense, snapping a fast blow in the air. The sword moved as if to pierce into someone’s body, his feet masterfully moving on the rectangular mat like a ballerina, ready for a last big plié, thanking the admiring audience.

But there was no large audience. Just an empty gym room with wooden floor and wide windows giving out to the sunset embracing the city’s buildings. A sound of clapping accompanied the muscular man as he cleaned his forehead with a hand and passed his fingers through his short, brown hair. There was a hint of red in it, just like in his well-groomed beard and moustache. Though his body was clearly well trained and fit, he wouldn't pass as the usual athletic type; probably because of his height too.

He turned his head to face a small, blond boy sitting on the floor, cheering as if he had seen the best opera of his life.

“That was so cool!”

The boy exclaimed, his  blue hoodie jiggling to his every movement. He must have been four or so. Paper and crayons were scattered near him, while an open school bag laid undisturbed next to a fine looking, square leather bag.

The man’s breathing became regular again, moving towards the child.

“Did you finish your homework?” his face showed a serious, untouched expression but his tone wasn’t as harsh as his features; he stopped next to the boy and brushed his hand against the child’s hair. Their blue eyes met and the boy eagerly nodded, a big grin appearing on his lips. The curious hands of the child brought a drawing up in the air.

“I drew you, but with two swords.”

The boy pointed at the second sword on his creation.

“Two?”

“It makes you _cooler_.”

“Does it, now.”

The man chuckled, telling him to pick up his things.

\--

George Sears was an important man, to the eyes of the company he was president of. He was important for investors, buyers, business. Politics. The ties he had with the government were deep and tight, tangled in a messy collaboration that could never be fully trusted.

At the same time, George Sears was the youngest child in his family. His other two brothers were twins, three years older than he was. If one, David, was rather sombre, living in a stable relationship for years and working a stable job at a rehabilitation centre for dogs, the other one, Eli, was an exuberant mess who seemed to detest everybody for no particular reason, but still showed up every three weeks at their parents’ house to have lunch.

George Sears had two fathers, who looked way too similar for their own good. The two men were proud of him, for his achievements, but being the baby of the house meant either his brothers’ problems were more important or that he simply was forgotten, as the good, obedient boy he was. 

He loved his fathers.

His brothers’ lives were just way more interesting than his, that was all.

It was alright.

George Sears pondered a long time on the decision of adopting a child. At the age of twenty-four, he announced his family that they would meet a baby boy soon, his name being Jack, as some kind of respectful nudge to his fathers’ nickname.

Jack was adopted when he was eight months old, since his biological parents had died in a tragic accident.

For the first time, George Sears was able to feel what it meant to be a father, holding the baby in his arms and cradling him to sleep; Jack was growing up learning how to be side by side with his father everywhere he went. Jack liked all the Japanese cartoons one of his uncles liked to show him, and he adored swords, especially the way his father handled them. 

George Sears’ heart was full of joy every time that child’s grinning eyes laid on him as he called _daddy_ out loud.

George seemed to be happy.

\--

Jack was holding his father’s hand, moving his little feet from toe to heel while waiting in front of a flat’s door.

A man in his mid-sixties opened the door, a frowny face well matched with the black eyepatch on his right eye.

“Dad, what took you so long?” George complained, adjusting his metal glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Hi grandpa!”

Jack uncaringly waved, before quickly sneaking in the apartment, leaving his grandfather with barely enough time to pat his head.

“I was discussing with _that guy_.” The man plainly stated while moving from the doorframe to let his son come in.

“ _That guy_ being dad?”

George took off his wool coat and his scarf, neatly placing them on the hanger at the entrance. He called his boy to come and take off his coat, too, but he was sprawled on the living room's carpet, plastic sword already drawn out from the toy box his grandparents had placed there.

“Is he trying to get you on his side?” a rather annoyed voice came from the kitchen and George saw his father mumbling while walking to where the complaint came from.

George kept hearing the two men bicker for whatever reason as he knelt down on the carpet to try and get his boy out from his coat. _If you sweat with this on, you’re gonna be too hot,_ he told him. Jack replied by sticking out his tongue and trying to stick his plastic sword in his father’s left eye; lucky for him, he had glasses.

Minutes later, he finally got in the kitchen and found the two men trying to solve crosswords on the back of the daily newspaper.

George frowned in confusion, as he straightened his tie.

“Weren’t you fighting?”

Both men had lost the same eye, incredibly so. But Ahab, the one complaining from the kitchen, had also lost his left arm in a war causality and had now adopted a bright red prosthetics as a substitute. He had been wearing a low ponytail to keep his greying hair in check, for a long time now, which contrasted with the short hair of his partner, Jack, from whom George's son had borrowed his name from.

They hadn’t been on the fields for decades.

Jack was still focused on the crosswords while Ahab’s face was up to meet their son, weighing himself over on the table with both his arms, peeking at the newspaper.

“Eh,” the man let out a sigh, shrugging, “He lost.”

Jack’s grumbled something under his breath as he seemed focused on understanding the missing word from the puzzle. George moved the paper from under his father’s nose and read the problem which seemed to be troubling the man.

“It’s taxidermy.”

Jack rose his head with his mouth slightly agape in dismay.

“The word,” George tapped on the paper, “It’s taxidermy.”

“I told you it was taxidermy, you fool.” Ahab took the pen from Jack’s hand and slipping the paper to his side to write it down. Jack folded his arms.

“You two are against me.”

“Oh, hush.” Was the only answer his partner deemed worthy.

George's son thought that was the perfect moment to jump in the kitchen with announcing himself with a shout, as he wielded his sword. The older Jack’s face lighted up, moving his chair a little.

“Come here, boy, what are you doing with that sword?”

“I’m fighting!” the child ran to his father’s legs and hugged one of them, making swinging sounds with his mouth. George's face showed a faint smile, looking at his son moving towards his grandfather, who seemed eager to pick the boy up. 

Jack loved children. It was weird, because he didn't seem like the type; he was never that affectionate with George or his brothers, for the matter. But being grandparents changes things, people say.

“How’s work?”

Ahab asked, following George with his eye, as he sat down on a vacant chair.

“Fairly good, I suppose.” He shook his wrist a little to rearrange his watch and look at the time. “I just wish uncle Adam would tell me when he decides to make a move with our Russian partners, instead of doing it all on his own.”

“Don’t expect Adam to ever tell you anything, any time soon.” Jack sneered at his son’s thought, while the child in his arms seemed to be captivated by the newspaper he could draw on with the pen, left lying on the table.

“As long as he realises he works for _me_ and not the other way around.”

Ahab drew out a sardonic smile as Jack shook his head a little, a chuckle escaping his mouth.

“Son, look, just do what he says. It’s better that way.”

“How does uncle Kaz even bear with him?”

“He doesn’t.”

\--

Friday came in like a saving grace. George was always rather busy, but at least on weekends he was given peace from constant phone calls or meetings, as he could lay in bed until nine o’clock. Except the times Jack decided to jump on his bed and wake him up at seven in the morning.

It happened quite often.

He lived in a family owned condominium, featuring three flats and garage slots. His family was the one owning the condominium. Or better, he was the one owning it. His high school friend, Helena Dolph, rented the flat right in front of his; she had married an older man and acquired the surname of Jackson. The third flat was a clockwork studio rented out to another of George’s friends.

Helena was extremely kind, as far as to look after Jack whenever George had to leave. She always tried to pull him out from his comfort zone, too.

Hence, she was standing at his door, at ten in a Saturday morning. He was ungracefully wearing an old sweater he had found lying around on his bed and pyjama pants, his hair desperately needing a good brush.

“Did I wake you up?”

George grumbled a response and he thought he really started to sound and look too much like his dads. The young pest of his son had woken up, now running in the corridor reenacting some kind of secret mission.

“I had even managed to make him fall asleep again.”

Helena folded her arms and huffed. She was a beautiful black woman, her hair curly and dyed blond, tied in a ponytail, sporting a nice white button shirt over a pair of black trousers.

“Did he sleep with you?”

“Yeah. He woke me up by tugging at my beard and I forced him to get more sleep."

“It _is_ pretty long.”

George straightened up and started to feel the fluff on his chin and cheeks with two fingers. He should cut it, he thought.

“Anyway, I wanted to invite you to an event tonight.”

The man interrupted his grooming thoughts to listen to his friend’s proposal.

“I’m playing there. It’d be nice to see you out, for a change.”

George wasn’t a person to go out at night to drink. He wasn’t really a social person, even though he faked such characteristic all week, because of his job. It just resulted in him being exhausted. However, listening to Helena’s saxophone was always a unique experience.

“What about Jack?”

“You got parents, don’t ya? Don’t find excuses.”

“No, of course.” He pushed his glasses up just as his son popped up behind him, still in his pyjamas. He came in like the noisy boy he was, greeting the woman with his hands clasped together in the form of a gun. _Pew, pew_ , he mouthed.

Helena smirked, putting her hands on her hips, playing along with the child.

“I told you, you can’t shoot me. I have a shield.”

“Liar!” The boy shouted and George placidly hushed him, picking him up and holding one of the child’s bare feet with a hand.

“Why aren’t you wearing your slippers?”

“They’re not good for hiding.”

George nodded and looked briefly at his friend, adding _they make a squeaky noise_. She chuckled and caressed the child’s cheek.

“You’re starting to act like an old man, George. Come on out tonight.”

Unplanned things. Sudden social activities. They were stressful. Nobody in his family was really keen on them, besides Eli, who seemed to just be part of that bundle of people by chance.  And yet, there was a feeling running through George, a feeling of being old; an actual fifty year old man, living and acting like such.

He was barely thirty.

He had no real life outside work, seldom dinners or lunches with his family or at his grandmother’s house. He tried to attend the activities Jack’s preschool held. His only hobby left was fencing, usually practised alone. His victories in the field had stopped after he had graduated from university. He had been an exceptional talent, becoming president at such a young age; he did have a nudge by his uncle, but that was just a small help that never compromised his actual skills. 

This life was boring.

Rather dull.

“When shall we meet?”

George’s hand around his son was firm, his mind roaming to uneasy places. Meeting people, drinking, music. Things he knew how to endure with a smiling bronze mask on his face, a perfect act to fool every client.

“At nine. I’ll give you a lift, so don’t worry about the car.”

\-- 

George sipped his coffee with Jack crunching on cereals on the chair next to him, looking at the cartoons shown on TV. The man's phone was on the table as he scrolled through a group conversation with his brothers.

“Do you want to stay with Uncle Dave or with your grandpas?”

He went on his contacts waiting for a reply from his boy. Jack turned to his dad with the spoon still in his mouth and mumbled something.

“Behave.”

George reprimanded with just a word and an unamused look. He wasn’t much fun to be around, he had always thought. His brothers were much more charismatic than he was, in a way that didn’t involve a large number of people; they made Jack laugh and he seemed way more content to play rough with Uncle Eli or talk about dogs with Uncle Dave than being with that boring, bleak man.

“Uncle Dave!” Jack said out loud, holding his spoon out from his mouth.

“Fine.” His father selected David’s number and held out the phone to his son. “Wanna tell him?”

The boy used both his hands to push the phone close to his ear and stared at his father with his bright blue eyes. George could hear his brother’s husky voice from the other side, _hello?_

“Uncle! It’s me!”

_Jack? Did you steal your father’s phone?_

“He made me call you!” The boy excitedly continued, moving around on the chair and grasping the back of it in an attempt to stand up. “He said I’m sleeping at your place.”

_What?_

George got the phone back from the boy, who tugged at his father’s sweater, _Uncle Hal promised me to watch Totoro together!_

“Hey Dave.” George moved an arm around his son to avoid him from falling, but shot Jack a look and pointed at his half empty cereal bowl to make him finish it.

“Hey, what’s the deal?”

“I’m going out tonight. Can you keep Jack for the night? If you’re alright with it.” When the child sat down again to eat, he retreated his arm, taking off his glasses to scratch his eyes. “I’ll call dad otherwise, I’m sure both of them will be happy to have Jack over.”

“Do you really trust those two?” he heard David scoff and let out a laugh, “Let me ask.”

Dave seemed to turn away from the phone and George could clearly hear him shout _Hal! Do we have stuff to do tonight?_ And a distant reply of a rather ungraceful voice, _no? If you don’t count getting pizza._

“We’re all good. Does he like pizza?”

\--

> David: George’s going out tonight

> David: leaving his kid behind

> Eli: where the hell are you going

> Eli: did you finally become an unruly idiot like dad

> David: “going out” that’s all I got

> Me: don’t you have anything else to do other than clogging the chat?

> Eli: look boyscout i just want to know if you’re having booze or not

> Me: I’m just going to listen to Helena’s concert.

> Eli:  sax girl?

> David: sax girl

> David: Eli can you stop killing Hal on his fucking online game

> Eli: too bad he’s a loser not my fault

\--

Helena spoke about the concert, the people, her husband waiting at the club she was performing at, while the orange lights of the streetlamps reflected on the shiny black car. George’s rather formal attire matched with Helena’s black suit; they seemed like they had just stepped out from the fifties.

The woman’s voice sounded empty in George’s mind and he didn’t know why he felt so unnerved, he should stop worrying about nothing. Try to act like he used to. Polite but stern. Smiling, yet distant.

The club seemed your typical place in which music fans would gather to listen to a gig or an underground artist; there was a stage, various tables and small sofas to sit on. The bartenders were pretty old, surely in their forties. Soft, warm lights accompanied the noise of people just starting their night out.

George felt out of place.

He greeted Helena’s father, who also attended the concert, and he shook his hand, ending up to chat with him about politics for at least twenty minutes, as the man ordered his drink; Helena had left him there to go and get ready for her turn, she was the third to perform that night.

The first band played something resembling songs taken from an Elvis Presley album and George found himself alone at the counter, drinking water and having too many free chips. The old man rambling about annoying political situations had just moved to annoy Helena's husband with it, and George didn't miss engaging in fake chit-chats anymore. His face rested on his closed fist, his elbow on the counter, while his other hand lazily picked the chips from a bowl in front of him.

How tiring.

How boring.

He entered the club like the president he was and quickly realised the people there didn’t know who he was, nor they cared. He didn’t really have any interesting quality, his whole complexion and body were just average. He was probably hard to approach, too. His face seemed to be stuck in a constant irritated stare.

An hour and a half had passed and he kept checking his phone, until Helena tapped on his shoulder.

“Not even a drink?” She frowned with a mocking smile, made with the utmost affection for the man.

“I can’t get drunk.”

“Come on, George. Get loose. It's just one night.” She ordered two drinks, Baileys with whipped cream on top and a Mango Daiquiri. The bartender presented the Baileys to George, and he straightened himself up from the seat.

“Oh no,” he opened his hand resting on the counter, “I can’t—“

“Drink it.” She hopped on a seat close to him, tasting her bright yellow drink. She looked at the crowd of people, while George obliged and took a sip. The whiskey was very sweet and she knew how much George liked sweet things, alluring him into a brief good time. The nights of him going out with his brothers to drink were so far back in his memory they seemed remote, even though they had happened just some years prior.

From the corner of his eyes he could see Helena wave at somebody, but he focused on his sugary remedy from his thoughts. Warmth started to spread on his face and throat, while he had to clean the whipped cream off his moustache with a napkin.

“You’re finally here.” His friend stated, with a hint of enthusiasm in her voice. She tapped George’s shoulder again to catch his attention, and he turned to greet a man whose face he could never forget.

He was tall, pale. His hair long and straight, with just one escaping lock falling in front of his pointy face contoured by tightly cut beard and moustache. The clothes the man wore were questionable, George thought. A black button shirt, with some left loose so that his hairy chest could be shown off like some kind of masculinity symbol; dog tags in a necklace fell neatly over it. Black leather pants, long, dark coat.

His boots were dirty on the tip. 

“He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

Helena announced to his friend, as he was still carefully studying the look of the newcomer. As the man stretched out a hand, he smiled and George felt very nervous, all of the sudden.

“Nice to meet you,” his voice was low, vicious “call me Vamp.”

George’s expression changed just so slightly to a frown, but he tried to give him a chance and shook Vamp’s hand. His accent was peculiar, probably eastern European.

“George Sears. My pleasure.”

He held George’s hand for a little too long before letting him go. The man’s white teeth seemed to shine in the darkness of the club. He was, in a way, creeping George out.

“How formal.”

“George’s like that.” Helena laughed, “You know, Vamp just came back from Romania.”

Vamp couldn’t seem to get his eyes off him, in a stare that seemed to hold a desire to violate his privacy. George pushed up his glasses.

“I see. That’s interesting, I didn’t know you were so international.”

He commented. Vamp let out a small chuckle, his smile becoming a smirk.

“Oh, our _queen_ here is surely an interesting woman afterall.”

Every word seemed like a knife caressing his cheek. He wanted to run home. It seemed implausible that, by a first glance, a man could make him reconsider his whole decision to attend the night. He had never felt like that, such an urgency. A fear.

“Well, the _queen_ has to leave now.” She patted George’s shoulder, as he held his half-empty glass of whiskey, “Give me some feedback after the gig.”

He nodded.

And he was left alone.

The silence after the last song of the second band of the night, hands clapping as Vamp’s eyes locked on his face.

He didn’t break the contact; his brain had started to list all the reasons why he shouldn’t let his imagination run wild.

Helena wouldn’t make him meet a dangerous person. The alcohol was making him too judgemental. He was tired. The atmosphere made the man look scarier than he actually was.

 _These were plausible._  Comforting thoughts tried to clear his mind. This was all stress, making him imagine things.

He frowned at Vamp, letting his emotions escape his control. And the Romanian slightly opened his mouth in an approving, yet surprised, expression, sliding on the seat occupied earlier by Helena.

“Fierce.”

The only word to come out from his mouth. George felt the need to prove himself not subdued to that man’s off-putting aura.

“What is?”

Vamp brushed his beard with his thumb and index, smiling. The lights pointed all to the stage as Helena was introduced to the audience; the club now moving on the jazzy notes of her saxophone.

Various colours shifted on the walls and the floor. One beam of purple light shone on George’s face, as he kept his stern look, staring at a now completely shadowed Vamp, whose expression he couldn’t really make out.

“You.”

The light on him changed to red. It all felt as if he was harmless in front of a monster, battling it with his bare hands.

George stood up and gulped in the rest of his drink, feeling like he had left the vampire undisturbed in his preying.

“I’m moving closer to the stage.” He placed the glass on the counter, “It was nice meeting you.”

He wasn’t going to wait for a reply, but Vamp was quick enough to let him understand.

_See you soon, king._

\--

One in the morning, holding the third glass of wine while sitting in the backstage of the club.

The night had been disturbing.

His body was telling him one more drop of alcohol and he would throw up, so he obeyed, just holding out the glass as if he had to keep his hand occupied somehow. He had been feeling observed all night.

When Helena was finally ready to leave, he was way too eager to finally leave that place; leave that presence. He had complimented her performance as soon as they had met in the backstage, where he had been since. Hiding.

“Sorry I left you with Vamp.” She started the car’s engine, “Did he bother you?”

_Yes._

“No. I left soon after anyway.”

“That’s a relief.”

The man’s voice echoed in his head, with that last sentence uttered almost like a threat.

_See you soon, king._

George was drunk. It made him uncharacteristically paranoid. He held his phone in his hand, fighting the urge to write absurdities to his brother, checking on Jack. His son was fine.

The next day, that whole experience would all look like a fever dream.

\--

His alarm went off at ten. He checked his phone, a message from the bank, spam mails, nothing else. His sore eyes focused on the screen, too close to his face just so that he could make words out.

_> Me: I’ll pick up Jack this afternoon._

 He dropped the phone on the mattress and moved to stare at the ceiling. His eyebrows furrowed, with a mocking expression appearing on his face.

“Stupid.”

He muttered, trying to picture the man that had ruined his night yesterday. He was just _a guy_ , a fairly creepy looking guy but nothing he couldn’t handle. He had just been a victim of a bad mood. George fell on his side, facing the empty side of his queen size bed. Jack liked to sleep there from times to times, but no one else had really tried that side.

In a momentum, he sat up and angrily messed up his hair, later rubbing his hands on his face. His arms flopped on his lap, defeated, and he stared at the shutters shielding the bedroom from the morning's light.

A sigh escaped his mouth.

_You made a fool out of yourself._

He went to take a shower.

_That was embarrassing, but your friend didn’t notice._

_That man won’t even remember you._

_It’s all good. It’s like every other day._

The rest of the morning was spent trying to figure out some work mails and falling asleep while watching TV. It was being a rough time of his life.

The weight of being stuck, at this young age, made him question his choices. Maybe he should drop his current job, pursue fencing. He was in no shape to do that, but it was a nice dream to coddle himself with. Maybe he could start to dress up in a more colourful way, but nothing really seemed fitting him besides boring white button shirts and ties.

Maybe he could,

Maybe he should. The list was long and nothing seemed a real option for him.

Sometimes George wondered if he was trying to make other people dislike him on purpose, and if that could happen with his son too.

Coming home one day and realising your son doesn’t care anymore, never cared. A look of pity in his eyes.

Jack was a spark of vitality in his life; understanding that would be the last drop for him.

He got dressed and headed out to get in his car to drive to his brother’s place, feeling like his bad mood from the passed night was still lingering in his body. A certain uneasiness was making him nervous, hitting the road like he had to run away. Being alone had him,

heartbroken.

George pulled over, ten minutes away from the block where David’s flat was; he held out his phone and his movements were sure, as if he knew what to say as he pressed the call button.

“George, hey.”

On the other side, his father Jack.

On his side, an empty mind. _Why did he call his fathers’ house? What did he want to tell them?_

He stared at the wheel in front of him,

“George?”

The man’s voice sounded a little concerned as his son wasn’t providing any reply. That wasn’t something George would usually do; acting without a plan.

“Ah,” George gripped his left hand on the wheel, “Sorry, dad. I called the wrong number.”

A pause.

“You okay?”

His father had never been a nurturing type, his upbringing couldn’t provide such a trait to develop that well, but he wasn’t heartless. He understood something could be out of place. George brushed his nose, as if he was trying to find a reason to whatever he was doing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m heading to pick up Jack at Dave’s place.”

“Alright.” George’s forehead touched the wheel, as he moved over it, while the older man kept talking, “Tell him and Hal that lunch’s on the eight at your grandma’s.”

“Sure.”

He wanted to say _I love you dad_ , but he couldn’t bring himself to. He wondered if his fathers ever feared their sons complete rejection; growing out from loving them. Eli was a close call, but he seemed to actually care, in his own way.

“Bye dad. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Don’t worry.”

George rose his head up to face the streets again.

“You never bother us.”

_I sure don’t._

“See you soon, son.”

George got out from the car to walk and clear his mind. He looked straight in front of himself, as he crossed the streets to reach his brother’s flat. He saw a crow on a tree, while waiting for the green light at a crosswalk; the bird’s black feathers reminded him of the man he had met the day prior. A dreadful memory of his own panic and stupidity, even though Vamp’s last words still felt like bite on his neck, a mark. 

He didn’t plan to find himself ringing the doorbell while still having that eerie figure roaming his mind. It was better than his own thoughts, he assumed.

\--

“This is Zeke, this is Rex.”

“What’s this one?”

“Looks like” the child crossed his arms and then agreed with himself, “Ray!”

David’s partner was sitting on the sofa, while the boy was playing with Japanese mecha models the man collected. He had many, alongside other figurines George always found colourful and artistic, even if some were definitely bizarre. Hal Emmerich had been a very early addition to the family, in more ways than one; he was as bizarre as his figurines. Wearing a big sweater and loose pants, his dark hair fell over a pair of big round glasses. The man was shy with strangers but didn’t really take David’s attitude like a passive, docile boyfriend. His comebacks to George’s brother were always nice to listen to, even just for a laugh.

“Jack, look who’s here.” David walked on the carpet, towards the boy and picked him up.

“He wants sixteen of these.” Hal held a model in his hand and Dave frowned, looking at his nephew.

“That’s such a precise number.”

“You have to be precise.” Jack stated as he wriggled in his uncle’s arms while Dave muffled _you sure are my brother’s son_. The boy stopped to look at his dad standing there, almost like an invisible presence. Jack’s face lighted up.

“Daddy!”

George felt like he had regained a little colour, from the bleakness of his being, while taking his child in his arms. His weight, his voice, the way he was so happy to see him again. He kissed Jack’s head as he heard him explaining the best he could all they had done over the span of a day.

Going out to get the pizza, stopping at a toy store, watching cartoons. Playing, having fun.

David and Hal would be good parents.

_How was your night?_

His brother asked, hands in his pockets after he had taken out a cigarette from a packet and placed it in his mouth.

_Intense._

George replied.

_It was intense._

\--

Monday would come soon, starting over with phone calls, work, foreign faces to show a smiley face to. He laid in bed with his son on the other side looking at a picture book of animals; he was such a clever boy.

“What’s that animal?” George asked, pointing to the top right corner of the book. “Dad can’t see well without his glasses.”

Jack scooted closer to his father.

“It’s a snake.” The child tried to imitate a snake’s vibrating tongue, before dropping the book and moving over his father’s broad chest, hugging him.

George moved a hand to caress his head, a little confused by the sudden change of heart.

“You want to sleep?”

Jack turned to face him, while his cheeks were brushed by his father’s fingers. The boy’s eyes shone in the dark room, only lit by the bed-stand lamp.

“You used to laugh more.”

The way the child said that made it clear how disturbed he was by this change. George’s eyes were glued to his son’s blurry silhouette. Everything was under control, he had thought, he had just been having a bad time in his life, especially in these past few months.

“Are you sad?”

To be blatant to a five years old, George must have been doing poorly. Very poorly.

He picked Jack up and held him close, feeling his inquisitive small hands touching his face. The child’s lips stamped a small kiss on his father’s cheek.

The feeling of being heartbroken.

“I’m sorry.”

Jack frowned and sat up on his father’s chest, slapping him in the middle of the forehead. George closed his eyes for a moment, since that came out of nowhere.

“Don’t cry!”

He couldn’t stop himself from letting out a chuckle at that, taking his son’s hands in his.

“I’m not crying.”

George smiled.

_Don’t cry._

\--

The normal, daily routine resumed as usual. Wake up, have breakfast, get dressed. Wake Jack up, get him to have breakfast, dress him up. Check he has everything he needs for kindergarten, put on the coat and his schoolbag.

Leave the house.

However, an oddity appeared on George Sears’ daily schedule.

Jack was loudly chitchatting with his father about cartoons, taking a step out on the landing outside their apartment, facing the stairs and Helena’s front door.

The boy halted his sentence to stare at the staircase going upstairs, while George was locking the house door.

“Why did you stop?” he put the keys in his coat’s pocket, “Come on, let’s go—“

A man was sitting down on the first step upwards.

That man.

Vamp.

_See you soon, king._

“King, how nice to see you.”

He smiled, hunched over, arms resting on his knees. He was wearing the same black coat as the other night, but that morning he sported a dark V-neck and different trousers.

George felt paralysed, for how the Romanian didn’t look as shadowy as he did in the club, but his sole presence there was perceived as a direct threat.

“It’s a vampire!”

Jack shouted, and he realised his son was in the picture now. In the reach.

“He is not.” George picked his child up and held him close, as Vamp stood up.

“I didn’t mean to agitate you.” A grin shining on his face, even though George’s view of that had radically changed; it wasn't prying on him this time. It looked playful, amused.

_Was he playing with a prey?_

How despicable.

“What are you doing here, this is private property.”

“I’m waiting for my queen." He folded his arms, "I’ll be living here for a while.”

The grip on his son became stiffer. He didn’t need this man staring at him like that, early in the morning.

“I didn’t know you had a son.”

“Have a good day.”

George almost shouted over the man, his eyes fierce, brows knitted down. Descending the stairs meant Vamp’s eyes on his back. He felt them.

Piercing through his skin.


	2. true romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you will like this one too.

 

Family lunches.

George used to like them. Family gatherings were always an odd way to have fun, even though all the members didn’t really get along per se. At their grandmother’s house a long table was put up by his dads, a tablecloth, nice plates and glasses.

His half-Japanese uncle, Kazuhira, cooked the meal, because many, in the family, were unable to make anything that wasn’t just barely above edible.

George always arrived at the house early in comparison to his brothers.

He was the obedient boy, helping out if he needed to. He would have a talk with his grandmother, as she kept saying how similar he was to her son and then she’d start talking about whatever philosophy pill of the day she had to share.

But most of the times, he didn’t even need to say a word about his life. Whatever had happened at work, his uncle Adam had already told everyone about it. Probably in a more interesting and dramatic way than George could ever make out.

So, he spent his time enjoying his family's loud voices, sitting on the sofa while looking at his son drawing or playing with his toys. But Jack himself would leave sometimes, just because the conversations his grandfathers were having sounded fun or he just wanted to show his artwork to the the uncles.

Then, his brothers arrive.

The good son, having an interesting job with animals, already with a fiancé. David didn’t speak too much, but whenever he did, there was always something interesting coming out of his mouth. Hal was also his own person, always in awe to talk with Kaz about whatever new Japanese sentence he had learnt. Kaz bore Hal’s interest just because he found him amusing. An extremely awkward man, but he was harmless afterall.

Following his twin, Eli would come into the picture, making a big deal whenever he stepped in the house. He only obeyed to their grandmother, with an unseen compliance. Whatever life Eli was having, it was something nobody could neither believe nor understand. He would periodically get into arguments with one or both of his fathers.

The lunch itself was chaotic, yet cheerful in its own peculiar way. For how Joy, the matriarch of that family, wasn’t too keen on expressing her benevolence for everybody through smiles or affectionate gestures, she always had a radiant aura surrounding her during these occasions; even when she was slapping Eli’s head to make him behave.

Each family member had their own quirks, their own colour. Their own story to tell.

As everybody conversed with one another, George was focusing his stare on the food in his plate. The soup in his spoon was clear enough to reflect his image.

He was the uninteresting one.

The grey spot on a painting. Whether he was there or not, there would be no difference. Nobody would _really_ miss him, he thought, just because he was just the dutiful child. He never complained.

Living an uneventful, fair life with his bland, bleak character.

“Daddy?”

George turned to his son, sitting on his left. The room had gone quiet all of a sudden.

“Why are you crying?”

He had just realised there were tears rolling down his cheeks. The faces fixed on him were all confused, taken aback. George’s head moved almost robotically to look at his brothers, sitting in front of him.

“George?”

Dave frowned, trying to understand what was going on. His twin put down the glass he had been drinking from, “Are you alright?” George’s eyes dropped down on the table, hearing his brother’s voice, yet again, “What the hell are you doing?”

George’s embarrassment rose up to his cheeks and he lifted up his glasses to quickly clean his eyes. Then, like a hurricane, he took the napkin laying on his knees and abandoned it on the table.

“I’m sorry.”

He apologised head down, moving the chair to escape that horrible situation. He heard the commotion of feet and screeches on the wooden floor following him to the bathroom. The door closed behind himself. His grandmother called his name, like an order, like usual.

Placing carefully his glasses on the sink, he was face to face with his crying reflection looking back in the mirror. He wished he could punch that indistinct, out of focus man. It was a sad metaphor for himself.

The water ran freely down the drain, while he kept washing his eyes from the tears. He needed to apologise to his son. Make him understand there was nothing wrong. This was going to pass, eventually.

He needed to apologise to everybody.

There was no need for him to act like that.

“George, open the door.” He heard his father, Jack’s, firm demand. He could hear Ahab whisper a loud  _don’t be like that_ to his partner.

The man repeated his statement, with a genuinely softer voice,

“George, “  in the bathroom, he dried his face with the nearest towel and waited for the rest of the sentence, “please open the door.”

George took another look at himself in the mirror, placing his glasses back up, pushing them in position. There he was, yet again, the compliant child.

The two men were the only people in front of the door; he expected the whole family to be there, just because they always fancied loud, dramatic scenes. But in a turn of event, this time they had been rather quiet.

“What happened?” Ahab asked him, the coldness of the prosthetic hand touching George's still warm cheeks.

“Nothing. I have things on my mind.” He explained with a flat tone, as if nothing had happened. His eyes met Jack’s mistrusting one; there was something else bothering his son, something he didn’t really understand. George shifted his look from a man to another, until he leaned closer to Jack and hugged him. He felt the strong arms of his father awkwardly wrap him the best he could, while Ahab rubbed his child’s back.

\--

George wasn’t an avid smoker, but when the circumstances allowed him, he would choose cigars.

His son was out, on that Saturday afternoon, staying at a little friend’s place for a couple of hours, so George felt nothing could hold him back.

The smell of the cigar made him thrilled, as if he was doing something illegal, powerful. The smoke, the way he held it; everything made it fitting for George’s serious demeanour.

Spring was coming. The sun was warm. He thought he could have this moment to rest his mind,

And yet.

A voice he had grown accustomed to hear every single day greeting him in the morning, waiting on the stairs. That voice came from down the street, as he was leaning out from the balcony of his flat.

“King, enjoying the sun?”

The attire was always black, with the addition of black sunglasses, this time. Vamp grinned from down there, as if shouting was the most common and acceptable thing to do. There was no fear left in George for that man, just a strong sense of annoyance.

He was provocative, 

He made George want to act impolite,

He made George want to shout at his face.

The man kept talking to him, every day, without fail. His audacity was almost admirable, even though George had made it clear enough that he was no man for small talk; George had no time for people like him.

_Did he?_

Vamp had his greeting rejected, seeing George retreating from the view on the street to sit down on one of the wooden chairs on the balcony. His legs crossed, composed. The smoke from his last drag left his mouth.

Minutes later, the doorbell’s buzz called him back from his brief moment of privacy. A frown appeared on his face, brushing the cigar in the ashtray with a clear, irritated motion, before walking to the door; somehow, he knew who the visitor was going to be. Somehow, he didn’t want to see his prediction come true.

The tall Romanian stood in front of his door, sunglasses down and a smirk on his lips.

That characteristic intense smell of cigar caught Vamp’s attention, who started analysing George’s look from toe to hair. He liked what he was seeing. It seemed like a high prize to win. A composure he had never seen in anyone else before, a look of hidden dominance running in those solemn blue eyes.

“Hello.”

George forced good manners out, no expression.

“Hello, king.”

That nickname kept popping from Vamp’s lips, and George had been confused by it since the first time they had met. It meant nothing, there were no basis for a nickname in their relationship.

There was no relationship.

“I was wondering if you were alone.”

“Listen.” George pushed his glasses up and then folded his arms, naturally wearing a rather menacing demeanour. “I haven’t asked Helena your circumstances and whereabouts, yet.”

Vamp took off his glasses with a confident move, slipping one side in his shirt so that they would dangle on his chest.

“I have nothing against you, personally. However, you need to end this insisting behaviour immediately.”

The dark man’s reaction wasn’t what George had planned. He didn’t expect those eyes to be even more captivated by him.

“I have a child and you are making both of us uncomfortable. If this continues, I’ll have to ask you to leave. And I will.”

There was a weird spark in those black eyes, it made George feel uneasy. Nonetheless, the centre of a strange type of attention. The way Vamp was now watching him was _different_ , inexplicably so.

“I have told you, my wish wasn’t for you to be uncomfortable.” Vamp traced the line of his moustache with his thumb and index, “On the contrary, I was interested in seeing you letting your guard down.”

“Why?”

That question escaped his mouth before George could stop himself. Curiosity took over him.

“I saw you at the club, that night,” those shiny, white teeth kept the grin up, “and I thought you must have been someone to chase after.”

The president didn’t know what to think of that.

George Sears was at loss of words, his frown still present, but inquisitive. His stern mask, unbroken.

 _Why_ , he asked again.

“I thought you were a _king_ in that place. Nobody else stood out like you were.”

 _He is playing with you_ , his mind screamed at him for the juvenile warmth he was feeling in his chest. Just a few smothering words whispered at the right time by a stranger, living like a squatter in her friend’s apartment. _You are so boring, George Sears._

“Are you done?”

“I was hoping for you to let me come in.” Vamp had noticed the slight blush on George’s cheeks, but still, the man’s stance remained the same.

“You seem like a man who likes saying a lot of empty words just to fill his mouth and win people’s hearts. An easy way to deal with others.” George released his arms, his hand on the door handle now.

“I love the way you talk.”

The hand clasped the handle as if it had to break it.

He had lost.

His eyes dropped to the floor just for a brief second, but it was the signal of a defeat. George’s mind was in full alert, trying to hold onto his control, slowly slipping away.

He knew,

He knew, in the moment he was to look up again, he would be seeing that snarky smirk and those prurient eyes. George gazed back at Vamp’s face and the smile was there, the eyes. And yet, it seemed like Vamp was amused, almost endeared.

There was no good way to end this.

There was no good way.

\--

>Me: I have a problem.  
>Me: A client accidentally got involved with a company with an unknown reputation because of a well-worded contract. They are currently discussing their credentials.  
>Me: Should I advise to continue the exchange? Do I call a cut of ties?  
>Me: It is risky.  
>Eli: dude i get that you’re the president of a company but can you talk like a human being sometimes  
>Me: please answer  
>Eli: you know me im for the risk  
>Eli: are you playing the ‘a friend of mine has a problem but its actually me’ with us  
>Dave: if your “client” has a problem later, there’s still time to fix it or just abandon ship  
>Eli: dave you’re a wanker  
>Eli: what does it mean abandon ship?? george isn’t gonna abandon any ship  
>Eli: are you  
>Me: it’s not about me.  
>Dave: you’re being weird lately  
>Me: I wish I were you guys.

\--

“I apologise for using the phone. I have private matters to take care of.”

The phone kept buzzing after George had sent the last message, _I wish I were you guys. I wish I had a fleshed out personality like you two. I wish I wouldn’t panic whenever I’m about to do something different, whenever I might stop playing the part of the perfect brother._ He quickly swiped the notifications and removed the vibration, placing the device near his leg.

He was sitting on the armchair, in the living room. On his right, Vamp was looking at him from the sofa, sipping the ice tea George had offered him, like the diplomatic man he was. No harsh feelings on neutral grounds.

“Don’t mind me. I’m good by just looking at you.”

The smooth talk hadn’t stopped, as if Vamp had just found out his weak spot and kept digging in, trying to find George’s deepest desires.

Nefarious.

Yet, oddly satisfying.

Nobody had ever spoken to him in such manner, with such words. George’s eyes quickly moved to the clock hanged over the TV, realising there was still plenty of time before he needed to pick Jack up.

“Why did you leave Romania?”

He turned his head to Vamp, who huffed and leaned on the sofa’s back, crossing his legs.

“No work there for me.”

“I see.”

“I studied Romanian literature at university, but realised too late the dreadful truth of the limited amount of jobs I could apply to with that.”

George rose his eyebrows, expressing a spiteful surprise.

“A bad choice, indeed.”

He heard a chuckle from Vamp, who pointed at him with the hand he was holding his glass with.

“I write poems, too.”

“A _terrible_ choice.”

“Don’t be too harsh with me, king. I’m an artist.”

The man saw George rising his eyes to the ceiling with a resigned look, but the way he sat down, the way his back was straight up, that superior air around him. It was alluring; Vamp wanted to grasp its essence and be subdued by it. The secret behind that powerful look.

“I could write a poem about you.”

\--

>Eli: what the fuck does that mean  
>Dave: are you alright?  
>Eli: it’s been ten minutes. Reply  
>Eli: do i need to come to your house  
>Dave: I’ve tried to call him but he doesn’t answer  
>Eli: what the FUCK GEORGE

\--

“You barely know me.”

“I don’t need to know you to admire your beauty,” Vamp took another sip, staring at George’s marble face staring back at him, “In a way, it’s more inspiring like this.”

Hit by hit, George was taking the compliments all in silence; no thanks, no polite apologies, no courteous smile. Just loving that fulfilling moment. Someone remembering him as a beauty, as interesting. Worthy of a poem.

He was,

So naïve.

There must be a second meaning behind that man’s words. Nobody could be _that_ attracted to him just by one look alone. Maybe money.

“You don’t break easily.”

“I am quite confused by your” a pause, “interest in me.”

“Really.”

George’s house was always clean, since he had taught Jack to put back his things or get his own room dirty, meaning the flat seemed a little devoid of humanity. His attire appeared the one of a man ten years older than he was; elegant, but nothing that really made him stand out in a crowd.

He had never considered himself handsome.

Average and boring, those were his describing points.

However, Vamp’s use of those new, graceful words to describe him had George shiver a little, his cheeks going red.

And then, it dawned on him.

 _He was being courted_ , like a secret lover to a princess in the most romantic, corny novels.

“Are you” George curled down is brows, as if he was searching for a word he wasn’t really sure was even correct, “flirting with me?”

He looked at the man in front of him, as his expression was turning into a confused, almost mesmerised frown. His mouth, slightly opening in a smitten yet unsure smile.

“Why, of course.”

A _oh_ was George’s only reply, his tone hinting his bewilderment at that clear declaration. His gaze slowly moving from the man’s face to the carpet and finally stopping on his own knees. That was unexpected, but he was really having a hard time figuring Vamp out.

The slight tap of the glass on the table near the sofa made George regain focus, letting his thoughts and words roam out his mouth.

“I thought you were just trying to annoy me.”

His blue eyes fell solemnly on the other man, once more. A slight blush on his cheeks, his nerves tensing up like that night, in the club; but this time, it was for expectancy.

_What will be this man’s next move?_

“It is quite silly. I assumed many things just by your behaviour.” George’s awkwardness was visible only to an acute observer, seeing how many times he had already pushed up his glasses or clenched his fist. And Vamp was as acute as one could get. “I am very sorry.”

Flirting, romance.

These things were something that had never crossed his mind; he hadn’t been interested in actively searching them. He was modest even in that. Not that George never threw a thought at the idea of rising Jack with somebody else, or just having someone who would love him.

However, he had never thought of himself as someone that could be loved, or someone that could love. He had surprised himself with Jack, that was true, but also different types of love require different skills – different mind-sets.

“I have never met somebody like you before, king.” Vamp seemed pensive, as he laid two fingers on his chin, while his other arm was resting on his waist. “I have been rejected, of course. I am not a welcoming presence, as you might have seen.”

George’s façade was slowly falling apart, as he let out a short, amused huff. A brief smile showing on his face, which could be seen as a twitch of his lips. Yet, it made Vamp rose up from the slow tone of the conversation, the curious gleam back in his eyes.

“By this time, usually, I would be saying goodbye to my loved interest after a passionate night of love.”

“I’m not like that.”

“That’s why you’re superior.”

Both of George’s arms were now firmly intertwined, crossed, as if to stop the warm feeling from growing, from expanding.

“Don’t toy with me.” He was wary, but his frown was softer, unsure on whether or not he should be actually frowning.

“I would never,” Vamp had moved closer to the edge of the sofa, closer to where George was, “my king.”

Vamp got what he wanted. The real, pure expression of an untouched blush, untouched embarrassment. He had dug deep enough to tear down George’s mask, at least for a small peek.

And he was astonishing, like the real beauty Vamp thought he was.

For the first time, George looked at the man with his mind blank. No response ready, no comeback. That nickname, spelt out with a possessive; the last drop.

“How old are you?”

Vamp’s voice cut the silence, as if he had noticed how the embarrassment shown on George’s face was slowly growing into an incredibly painful sense of shame.

It was kind of him.

George appreciated that. He tried to recover the broken mask, passing his stone cold hand over his burning cheeks, before replying.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Wait,” suddenly Vamp was studying him again, “how old again?”

“I said, twenty-eight. How old are _you_?”

“I thought you were” there it was, the knife in his heart, “much older.”

How stupid!

Oh, George Sears thought he was someone interesting, for once!

He had imagined a fantasy world!

But he had just been driven to the gallows for a slow execution.

How stupid!

His brows furrowed again, his cover back up, his whole being shielding himself after such a realisation. Of course, nobody could like him like that. He looked like an old man.

“You see,” George eventually smiled, a bitter, self-conscious smile, “I’m not that interesting when one starts talking with me.”

“Oh, no. I just thought you were older, seeing the way you talk.”

Vamp stood up, with George’s eyes glued on him.

“I’ve rarely met young men with such a refined style.” His hand moved to George’s face in a swift movement, taking his glasses off. The deep blue of that stare seemed curious, as the glasses were slowly slipping off and the images became blurry. “You should smile proudly.”

George could only mutter a _what_ , and the glasses were back on his face just like that.

“Please, stop.”

“I only wanted to see your eyes.”

Vamp had the other man on his feet now, dangerously close and not for the reasons he wanted.

“Get out.”

Vamp smiled, seeing the fierce power rising up again; and he understood, for that day it was enough. He obliged.

“My hands slipped. I apologise.” The smirk never leaving those lips, as George repeated his order with a quiet, yet firm voice. The Romanian had himself seen to the door, closed behind him as soon as he stepped out, no chances to whisper sweet nothings this time.

And George was alone, taking his glasses off behind the entrance door.

He knew he had work to do he had missed out in that hour spent doing nothing. He knew he was going to be late to pick up his son. He knew he had left his brothers hanging.

Two fingers helped him clean his eyes from the guilt that was trying to rain down on his cheeks.

_Was it worth it?_

\--

>Me: Sorry, I had to pick up Jack from his friend’s house.  
>Dave: I’m sure Eli was this close to call the cops  
>Eli: what the fuck was that  
>Eli: you stop replying after an ominous message  
>Me: Were you worried?  
>Eli: yeah  
>Dave: what  
>Eli: i was worried you guys would find his body and blame it on me  
>Me: Thanks.

\--

“So, why did you want to dine together?”

George asked, the water from the tap running over his hands as he cleaned off the plates, while David was drying the tableware.

“It was Eli’s idea.”

The man shrugged.

“One, it was not _my_ idea,” the twin shouted from the corridor, coming back from the bathroom, “two, can’t we just eat without having big schemes or whatever, for once?”

Eli had his blond hair falling down his shoulders, a cut on his left eyebrow, some bruises on his exposed arms, while wearing a red t-shirt half tucked in black pants slit on the knees. Both him and David showed rough, more angular cheekbones and facial structure compared to George’s, resulting in a mysterious, charming complexion.

Both brothers turned towards Eli, standing in the kitchen entrance.

“Really?” Dave said flatly, “Are you _really_ trying this?”

“I’m not trying anything, you twat. I was here for the food.”

The twins were already off to each other’s throats and George ended up cleaning the rest of the plates with a background noise of two grown men shouting. He had been extremely happy when Hal suggested he’d bring Dave to George’s place, so he could have Jack there for the evening until his partner needed to come home. At least the poor boy didn’t have to listen to that mess.

“Can you guys keep it quiet?”

George sighed and David pointed at his twin with an angry finger, staring at his little brother as if he was actually talking with one of his fathers.

“You talk with me about keeping quiet?”

“You wanna get into a fistfight or what?”

Eli punched the palm of his other hand, in an attempt to challenge Dave, until George stepped in the two with a comparatively tame demeanour.

“If you fight in my house,” he imitated David by pointing his index to his older brother, “I will actually kick you out. Are we clear?”

“You’re making him angry.” Dave scoffed at his twin with a smirk, to which George turned around with the same index pointed towards him, this time.

“This applies to you, too.”

He returned to his dish washing, while his older brothers shot a look at each other. Eli sat down at the now clean table, tapping a fingernail on the surface.

“You worry your big brothers are gonna hurt one another?” he chuckled, looking at George checking a wine stem glass for dirt spots.

“Not particularly.” He retorted, “I’m worried if they found your bodies in my house I would be the prime suspect.”

David let out a laugh, his mouth hidden by a hand and Eli clicked his tongue in dismay.

“You reap what you sow, brother.”

George said, showing a sardonic smile to the blond.

“God, you’re starting to look like exactly dad, it’s freaky.” Eli took out his phone from one of his trousers’ pockets, scrolling through it.

“Which one of the two?” Dave added in.

“The stupid one.”

“Still,” the twin put away the drying cloth, “which one of the two?”

Suddenly, the doorbell’s sound cut the disquisition and the brothers had a collective stare, as if they were trying to figure out whom the visitor might have been.

“It’s probably Helena,” George walked out from the kitchen, “I’ll go check.”

He opened the door, hearing his brothers arguing for whatever reason, once again. There he was, in the dark of the landing. In the shadows, he always seemed way eerier than he really was.

“Good evening, king.”

George’s eyes widened, feeling the urge to push the man further away to hide him from his brothers. And so he did. He moved Vamp, which was incredibly easy to do, with his forearm franticly moving on the other man’s chest. He held the door’s handle behind his back with his free hand, while closing the entrance until just a little crack could let the light escape in the darkness surrounding the outside.

“What are you doing?” he felt his cheeks become warm. Vamp’s face was hard to make out, but his features definitely meant he was amused at the sight. “You don’t even turn on the lights?”

“I just needed wine.”

“Wine?”

“To cook.” George straightened up, thinking that was an incredible overreaction; but knowing his brothers, they would have made a big deal of that man nonetheless.

“I,” he managed to stammer in his words because of the unexpected visit, “I see.”

“I know it’s odd to believe, but I have to eat too, sometimes.”

The other man had, incredibly enough, kept a composed stance with his arms folded. The dark was a blessing, so that Vamp couldn’t see his flustered face, and a curse, for George couldn’t understand what the Romanian was thinking. He slid back in the house,

“I’ll give you a bottle.”

He felt like screaming.

“Who’s out there?” Eli asked, seeing his little brother coming back, heading for a cabinet near the fridge where three wine bottles rested on metallic grids. He picked one up, white.

George’s thoughts were too fast for him to keep up.

_Lie._

“Helena needed some wine to cook.”

_Disobey._

David had sat down in front of his twin and they both stared at him. In that moment, he found out how good he was at lying, as his brothers just shrugged and went back to their argument.

He brought the bottle with him, opening the door to greet Vamp once more. The wine was handed out very naturally and the cold fingers of the Romanian brushed against George’s during the exchange.

“It’s white. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s perfect,” the silhouette of the man looked down at the bottle, and George found himself admiring the profile in the dark, just enough light to touch the strong nose and those black eyes, showing a gleam in the unlit environment, “Thank you, king.”

“I expect you to give me one back, hopefully soon.”

He said, leaning his bulky body on the door, making Vamp understand; inadvertently, George’s body had signalled him that the conversation wasn’t going to stop there.

Consequentially, Vamp moved a step closer, pretending to have ignored the hints his king had given away. He chuckled.

“You won’t even let me pass a bottle of wine?”

“ _Especially_ a bottle of wine.”

“It’s not like I asked you money.”

George smirked in the dark and Vamp moved nearer, once more, not even a palm of distance dividing them.

“Do you really think I would give you money, just like that?”

“Oh, no,” The atmosphere had grown warmer, like an unusual dream. George’s heart was racing for reasons he couldn’t understand, as if he was expecting something, “ _you’re not like that_.”

A lock of Vamp’s dark hair fell down from his shoulder as he moved his head a little on the side, appreciating the lines on the president’s face, revealed by the pale lights escaping the door, showing his soft cheeks covered in a neatly kept beard. George was guiding the dances, without even realising it.

He wanted to ask,

_How was he,_

_How was he like?_

But Vamp didn’t need an input for that. He just knew.

“You’re another level.”

Vamp’s hand was roaming mid-air, slowly reaching George’s hip, as if it had to bite it. The moment was allowing him to finally lay a finger on that untouched monarch, as he was just following whatever law for personal space George was displaying.

He didn’t plan for George to release the door handle, getting straight up on his feet and bumping onto him, while the door itself was pulled from the inside.

“George, are you lost?” Eli’s mocking tone came right before his figure, inundating the landing with light. Dave was right behind him, staring at the two men.

Vamp’s hand was successfully on George’s hip, but it was a mean to avoid a hypothetical fall for him; accidental, if you must. The other hand was firmly grasping the wine bottle.

“Good evening.” Vamp smiled, his teeth showing just a little, like the creepy man he acted as. George wanted to smash the bottle on his head.

“Who is he?” Dave frowned in confusion, while George quickly got away from the man’s gentle hold.

The blush on his face was incredible, but he tried to act it cool.

“A friend of Helena’s. He was just going back to his dinner.”

“I sure was.” George burnt Vamp alive with just a stare, silently reprimanding him from ever uttering that nickname he so much loved, not in front of his brothers. _Say it and you will face the consequences._ But the Romanian dared, trying to push him for who knows what kind of amusement.

“Goodnight, _king_.”

Vamp waved, a smirk on his lips. George’s blood was boiling and his brothers were just completely at loss of words, staring at the dark man. A slight shiver going down their spine.

“Wait, who the hell is _king_?” Eli grimaced, his eyes still on the sly man retreating into the other flat.

“Was he bothering you?” David leaned out to look at his little brother, somehow feeling a little apprehensive just at the sight of such a weird man.

“No.”

George kept ogling at the door, hoping it would somehow set off an explosion.

“Wait,” Eli pushed David out of the way and frowned in utter shock, “ _you_ are king?”

George Sears had found a new emotion to feel for Vamp.

_Anger._


	3. But I cannot deceive you, this was never planned

                                

 

The scorching sound of thunders made George come to his senses. He woke up, laying in his lonely bed. Outside, a downpour he was probably going to face in the morning.

He sighed, turning on the other side; his back to the noisy windows.

 _Daddy_ , he heard in the darkness, a sniffle following the whispered word. Jack got up on his father’s big bed, climbing on its empty side. His dad was with an arm spread out to welcome him in his half-asleep daze.

George’s mellow voice came out not as reassuring as he wanted it to be.

“What is it, Jack?” His big hand caressed the boy’s head, seeing his silhouette scratching his eyes, “You usually like thunderstorms.”

“There’s a monster in my room.”

“A monster?”

“It’s a vampire, he’s under my bed.”

George frowned; the only vampire coming up in his thoughts was his not-so-unfamiliar neighbour. Jack moved closer and hugged his father’s neck, feeling protected now that the man carefully surrounded his small body.

“There are no vampires in this house.” He grunted, his hand resting on his son’s back, calming him to sleep.

_No vampires, for now._

\--

“And he keeps talking with that guy, too.”

“Why are you so worried anyway?”

“I’m _not_ worried.”

Eli sat in his fathers’ kitchen, a beer in his hand and a scowl on his face. He was staring at Ahab’s back, cutting some vegetables, stopping from times to times to check the time.

“George is a responsible boy. He wouldn’t just hang out with dangerous people.”

“He’s responsible, but he’s also a gullible mess.”

Ahab smiled bitterly, staring down at the cut veggies.

“That is also true.”

The knife cut down on a zucchini, the sound of it hitting the wooden board echoed in the small kitchen.

“What did your father say about this?”

“Oh,” Eli snorted, taking a sip of his beer, “he was fine with it, until I told him how touchy that guy had gotten with George.”

“I don’t like it either, actually.”

“See!”

Eli got up, roaming the kitchen like a restless soul, peeking over the man’s shoulder. His father’s the metallic limb holding the knife.

“You should all take it easy.” Ahab turned to his son, facing that always-unhappy face, “David isn’t making such a scene.”

“Because he doesn’t actually care.”

Ahab grinned, leaving the knife on the cutting board.

“So _you_ care.”

“Fuck off.”

\--

It had been an incredibly busy week, leaving George out of energy by Friday afternoon. He had even started bringing Jack to biweekly fencing training, seeing how happy that made his boy. He would do his own special training, to let out the stress and sweat the work exhaustion out, but by the weekend, George could barely bring himself to do anything entertaining for his son.

Leaving Jack with his grandparents was the better option, so that he could finally recharge.

Having some alone time to think and plan the next week.

Of course, since his brothers had met Vamp, both the old men tried to bring the topic out every chance they got, as if they had suddenly grown protective. It was something he didn’t understand.

_Who is he?_

_Does he still live in front of your flat?_

_You know you can call us if he bothers you._

_You should kick him out._

It was endearing, in its own odd way. But at the same time, his family was making that whole confusing situation bigger than it actually was. There was nothing between him and that Romanian man, anyway. Nothing to be noted for, at least.

They had kept talking in the landing every now and then. He had an argument with him on actually embarrassing him in front of his brothers; the argument was just on George’s side though. Vamp had been liking his reprimanding tone, not taking it one bit seriously.  The illicit resident of one of his flats hadn’t been pushy with him.

Or maybe George didn’t see his actions as such.

Saturday morning had started in the most peculiar way, with a buzz of the doorbell. He had just come back from his parents’ house, after leaving Jack there to spend the time until Monday morning. The sound at the door didn’t even make him flinch, but he huffed his slight annoyance out.

He knew who that was going to be, as he opened to Vamp. He didn’t even leave George the time to get his coat off.

“I’ve just come back, couldn’t you _wait_.” He grimaced, seeing the man wearing a ripped shirt with an exaggerated V-neck. He could have been showing off a bare chest and it would have made no difference.

“I’m giving you back a bottle of wine.” George was face to face with the now familiar grin. He sighed and let the Romanian pass, as he set foot in his house again.

“Put it on the kitchen table.” George ordered him, finally taking his coat off and straightening his button shirt in front of the mirror in the entrance.

“You sure took your time for it.”

“It’s just been a week, king.”

George grumbled something under his breath as if to mock the Romanian’s voice. He wasn’t particularly keen on being social, that day.  He pushed his glasses up before heading to greet the man properly.

The feelings he felt while being around Vamp were, honestly, incomprehensible to him. He was annoyed and enthralled at the same time. He wanted to be around him, and yet stay at a safe distance. He wanted to give in to him, but not to be overpowered by that mischievous charm.

Facing him, in his house. Alone.

His exhaustion just wanted George to break and let Vamp get to him. He craved something from that man he wasn’t sure he would ever get.

“You want to celebrate?”

Vamp asked, standing in the kitchen door, smirking as the shorter man moved closer with a slow pace.

“Celebrate _what_.”

George tried his best to let his words come out as a question, but it just sounded like a lazy, uninterested remark. His brows still tense in a mistrusting expression.

“Wine, fun and us together.”

He got a grin back as a reply; and he admired Vamp for always seeming so peppy. Being unemployed probably made you preserve quite the energy.

Or maybe it was because he was _an artist_.

George sighed.

“Vamp, I’m tired.”

He didn’t expect the other man to actually make a worried hum of sort, his smile turning into a slightly tender one. _Was that his way to lure him into his traps?_

“What’s with that face.” George bluntly demanded him. Vamp’s sudden movement interrupted his train of thoughts, his long fingers swiftly catching George’s soft hips.

It would take no time for the president to push those hands way.

To push that man away.

But George Sears didn’t; instead, he jumped on his heels at the touch, his body deciding over his mind.

“You work too much.”

He felt his face flush, even though he tried not to seem completely taken aback by that foreign caress; taken aback by his own decision. He was yielding to his tiredness. He wanted to see where their relationship was going.

Now, that they had a relationship.

“Maybe you need to take a moment off.”

Vamp kept a nice smile George couldn’t describe as mischievous, like he usually did. It was, really, just nice.

It was,

A lovely smile.

He stared into those deep, black eyes. So devoted, so real. He had been resisting way too long, this urge to just jump into the unknown; trying out what this man had in store for him.

Those hands on his hips, that comforting touch, it felt like the one he needed from his fathers when he was a child; it felt like the one his son demanded from him.

Vamp was admiring George’s eyes drop from his face to nothing in particular, as if he was staring down to gather his thoughts.

“Do you really like me?”

He asked.

It was such a shameful question, exposing himself to Vamp’s sharp teeth; to bite in and hurt him, tearing the flesh away and break his heart.

“This is so uncharacteristic of you, king.”

Vamp’s chuckle made George more agitated, retreating his arms near his chest, still caught in his bad, bad thoughts. Of loneliness, of a dull life.

Abandonment.

George Sears was tired.

“Answer me.”

He looked up with a frantic face, his brows upwards, searching for an appropriate emotion to showcase. So vulnerable; he didn’t plan for this.

Sometimes, plans go astray.

The Romanian blinked twice, trying to figure out if he had said something wrong. That face was priceless to his eyes, beautifully intimate and sweet. His hand couldn’t let that escape, going from one hip to the president’s cheek.

“Of course I do.” His grin had disappeared, while he was still guessing whatever had made George doubt the obvious, “What’s on your mind?”

The president had officially dropped his mask in front of Vamp, for the better or worse. Showing his weakness so openly. Something had clicked in him.

George didn’t reply, but let his forehead rest on the man’s shoulder. There was so much stress piling up in him, too many _things_ he didn’t know how to deal with, too many smiling faces he had to wear, too many fake relationships in his life.

Vamp was alarmed.

“Are you alright?” He questioned George, one hand on his back, the other on one of his shoulders. “George?”

The taller man wasn’t really sure what to do; he was a slick master of flirting, romance and sex, but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t his territory, this wasn’t what he was used to.

And then, George rose up, smiling in a way only his son had been having the privilege to see. His lips were relaxed in a worn out, yet happy smile.

“You finally used my name.”

Vamp’s confused expression faded just a little, to enjoy that good smile. It was an accomplishment of his meticulous courting. Yet, he repeated his last question in order to assure his king was doing good.

“Are you alright?”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

\--

“You don’t need a _moment_ off, you need a whole week.”

Vamp grinned, his finger caressing George’s beard as he laid on his bed with his forearm covering the upper part of his face. The shutters were closed, giving the room a cosy atmosphere, since the sunlight from outside had enough strength to make everything decently visible in that bizarre late morning darkness.

“I’m sorry.”

George mumbled.

Vamp had forced him to get in clothes that were more comfortable, after his stress peaked into a visit to the bathroom. George thought it all felt incredibly surreal, but it had also turned in a very awkward situation for Vamp to be in. Or so he imagined.

“I am looking on the bright side.”

George was loving the attention the other man was dedicating him; the sweet caresses on his beard and neck made him get goosebumps, as Vamp was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking over him.

“That is?”

“You allowed me to touch you.”

The president clicked his tongue in exasperation and lifted his forearm to shoot a stare at the Romanian, who just kept grinning as if he had said the most hilarious of jokes.

“Really, now.”

The hand roaming George’s face had stopped, while one finger started to trail his jawline, his neck, reaching George’s broad chest. His cheeks flushed up at that change of pace.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t happy about it.”

 _God_ , he thought, _he’s so bad._

George pushed himself up, facing the other man with stone cold eyes. It reminded Vamp of the time at the club; he feared he had, yet again, done something wrong.

But the president had swiftly moved closer, putting a hand on Vamp’s neck to bring him closer. He kissed the eerie, creepy vampire man on the lips, with an imposing gesture and a sure movement.

They parted after a brief moment, and the roles seemed to have been swapped.

Vamp was speechless, his surprised gaze getting lost into George’s firm stare.

“King,” he managed to say, “you truly amaze me.”

To which George seemed to recollect his reserved composure, retrieving his hand back on his lap while staring at his feet. He felt like a boiling pot, completely at loss of words for his own behaviour.

_What are you doing, George Sears?_

“I like this.”

George Sears stated, his hands closed in tense fists.

“I like you.”

It seemed like the smile he had interrupted earlier appeared on his face, once again. But this time, it was more of a realisation. The thrill of disobeying his dull, boring persona. The excitement of a lover, of kisses and caresses.

Vamp was silent, a hand on his mouth as if he was having a hard time to restrain himself from either jumping on him or be moved to tears at how innocent George’s face seemed, while saying he was enjoying his attentions.

Loveable.

Truly loveable.

“You’re way better than I imagined.”

\--

The ways by which George could relax weren’t many, but he always managed if he really needed to. Reading a book, absentmindedly watching a movie, drinking tea, smoking a cigar.

However, on that particular Saturday, he discovered a new method he could add on his list.

He couldn’t clearly see Vamp, even though the man was standing above him; he didn’t have his spectacles on and the Romanian’s face was towering over him with a blurry, indistinct aura.

A slight tingle ran down his spine, feeling the thrill growing inside of him. Vamp’s teeth were on his neck, his lips smoothly kissing his skin.

Vamp was back again in what seemed his natural habitat. Thriving in it.

George didn’t resist this intrusion of his personal space, nor he made a fuss when Vamp got his sweater off from him, sliding it up, leaving George just in his undershirt.

Curiosity seemed to keep the president from interrupting the other man in his love giving.

He didn’t question Vamp’s suave touch insinuated under the last layer of clothing that was left covering his chest, leaving his cold fingertips roam to his breast. The novelty of it all, the pleasure he took from every moment their lips met; it was shaking his very being.

The character of Vamp had never hit George as someone who could manage such a gentle, meticulous approach.

And yet, again, George was wrong.

For a moment, his eyes wandered through the out of focus room, as if the whole situation had quickly driven out all of his energy. His eyelids started to feel heavy, while he blinked to keep himself aware.

Vamp, on the other hand, looked eager to have been bestowed the right to touch such a prize. His beloved king. George’s undershirt lifted up to reveal his stomach, a sight the Romanian felt like he deserved to feast upon.

There was a turmoil of conflicting emotions in George.

His rational side knew he wasn’t feeling at his best, having a hard time keeping himself awake. His now aroused adventurous side had been waiting for a moment like this since the time he had laid eyes on Vamp.

And another side, an usually quiet one, was trying to articulate a feeling of disappointment. He didn’t want to let the Vamp down. He had been unreachable enough, he thought, and maybe he was really trying to push everyone away.

He quickly moved a hand to stop Vamp from kissing his abdomen, firmly gripping on his shoulder. The Romanian halted his motion, lifting his face up.

“You’re not liking it.”

Vamp stated in a soft voice, his brows raised as if he knew he had to step up his game to please such a man. However, George realised he had been too rough with his gesture, seeing the hand clasping on the man’s shoulder as if he was biting it. He let out a puff, maybe a sigh, maybe a gasp, while he slid the hand on the other man’s cheek.

“No,” George brushed his fingers Vamp’s harsh skin, “I love it.”

To which the Romanian took the hand in his, holding it like a gentleman would with a fine lady and a smile of relief appeared upon his face.

“That’s a relief.” He kissed the top of the hand, George’s face flushing accordingly – even though he couldn’t see him as clear as he wished he could. He wanted to look at Vamp’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” The Romanian heard George whisper, making him lean over to his king to get a better view of that sweet, blushing face. George seemed a little uneasy, his brows curling up in an ostensibly guilty expression.

“What for?” Vamp’s kissed him once again, pressing a quick peck on George’s lips, “Is it because you stopped me?”

“I” There was something in that atmosphere, the air in the room; it made him feel helpless, “I really need to sleep.”

Too much had happened in just a morning for his standards. He had even skipped lunch, but his appetite had tamed down thanks to some divine intervention. Or more realistically, by a messed up stomach. After living in boredom for years, this spark of adrenaline had been the final blow for his nerves.

“Of course.”

Vamp handed him his sweater, as George straightened up to compose himself, brushing his eyes with his index and thumb.

“I apologise if I ruined your expectations.” He sat on the bed with a sleepy face, trying his best not to slush his words out.

“Don’t worry about it, king.” Vamp stood up from the bed, “There’s no fun if you’re too tired to enjoy it.”

George had swiftly moved under the sheets, having to push himself not to doze off as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn’t accompany him to the door, he didn’t tell him to leave.

But he did mutter something,

_You can sleep here if you want._

\--

The sun of the late afternoon was still hitting the bedroom’s shutters, making the soft light warm the room up. George batted his lashes a couple of times as he slowly woke up, facing the windows. The nap had him in a very cosy torpor, almost hiding under the sheets, no troubles in mind – at least not in the immediate time. A sigh escaped his mouth and he turned around in the bed to see the other empty side.

Except it wasn’t empty.

His eyes widened in surprise.

Vamp was laying on next to him in a very precarious position, as if he had just laid down a moment prior. The sheets were neatly placed under the man’s weight; his boots still on, but tidily placed outside of the bed to avoid soiling it. Vamp’s hands, showing black nail polish George hadn’t noticed earlier, were intertwined above his chest as his breathing was regular and quiet.

George lifted himself up from his pillow, still in shock at that sight – inside, a voice asked him to look at that sleeping face, as if he wanted to witness a vulnerable moment; an intimate moment. He tried his best to be silent while turning around to grab his spectacles from the bedside stand, regaining a clear view of his surroundings.

But when he moved back to the sleeping man next to him,

His eyes met Vamp’s dark ones, his head just slightly turned towards George.

“Nice to have you back, king.”

And George knew his fists tensed up as he jolted a little at that.

_How long had he been awake?_

“What are you doing here?”

He tried to regain control of the situation, clearing his throat in the meantime. However, he only found Vamp lifting up his brows in a surprised look; or at least, surprised was the best way to describe the man’s expression.

“ _You_ told me I could stay.”

Vamp seemed to wake his body from a stone cold sleep, effortlessly sitting up without unnecessary movements. He smirked, greeting George’s renewed frown.

“You look better.”

The man’s hand swiftly moved to caress George’s chin with a finger, and the president’s response was softening a little. He scooted closer, his eyes never moving from Vamp’s – fierce, once more, but this time, George fully knew what he was sinking into.

“I _feel_ better.” He dismissed Vamp’s hand, just allowing it to move down to his hip. It was as if the touch revived the dreamy memories from a couple of hours prior. His brain had tried to cover them up, but the foggy images of Vamp kissing him, feeling his skin under the man’s hands. It all came back like a slap on the face.

His gaze dropped down, focusing on the clean, white sheets. Vamp’s hand pushed George to move closer, to which he didn’t complain. That familiar arm around his waist, an odd yet peaceful sensation filling the room as he allowed the Romanian to burst into his personal space, as if he had now obtained the key to it. As if he had deserved it.

It was something George didn’t quite understand.

And, as a man of logic, he had to dig deeper to grasp whatever these feelings were. Vamp had transformed before his eyes: from a threat to someone whose kisses would amuse him, thrill him. From a creeper in the darkness to a man he was guiding down to caress his body.

“What is on your mind?”

He heard Vamp whisper in his low voice, leaning on George to place a kiss on the trail of his neck.

“You.”

George blinked a couple of times right after uttering that, realising how corny it must have sounded. He tried to cover the mishap up, not really wanting to witness Vamp’s mischievous smile appear anytime soon.

“You confuse me.” Vamp’s other hand held George’s left hip too, locking him in an affectionate, yet rather possessive hold. He kept kissing the length of the man’s neck as if he was preparing the surface for his teeth, to give in for a bite.

“I’ve never felt like—“

Then, the teeth brushed down on the skin, his bite came like an electric shock. He had just nibbled at George’s soft skin for less than a second, but that was enough for the president.  

“Are you even _listening_ to me?” George pushed Vamp’s face away, without any actual mean to move him over. He didn’t really have any problem pushing the Romanian’s weight off from him, yet the bite was completely unexpected.

Vamp was clearly testing him. Again.

And George wasn’t done with his speech, with his inner turmoil, just yet. He expected Vamp’s devoted attention. Professional deformation, that might be. “What the hell,” he huffed at Vamp teasingly grinning in front of his blushing face, “behave.”

“I just can’t hold myself back when I’m with you.”

“Well, learn how to.”

“You’re just” George frowned a little at that pause, “so inviting.” Vamp’s words were smothering him, every time. Without fail. Just coddling him, lulling that insecure man into that reassuring sense of extreme dedication the Romanian was revealing him.

“If you bite me again, you’re going to be _very_ sorry.”

George patted one of Vamp’s arms to free himself from his weird interpretation of a hug, sneaking away to pull himself up on his feet. The other man ogled at the president’s silhouette, as he turned around to walk out of the room.

“You’re leaving me here?”

George heard Vamp’s amused, yet slightly whiny voice following him like a shadow; that was the realisation. Once more, dawning on him as he was slowly discovering himself and the other man. Their relationship. He faced the Romanian again, while standing right outside the bedroom.

George Sears showed a grin on his face. He had suddenly figured out what game he liked to play.

“No.”

George Sears flatly answered, in a serious tone that didn’t match his homey attire and his bare feet.

“You’re going home.”

He left Vamp to get up from the bed and expectantly chase him to the door. The tables had turned, now expectancy being on Vamp’s side.

George had finally understood. He had been dictating the rules since the first moment they had met. The other man had been acting accordingly. His heart was pounding in his chest, feeling he was toying with knives.

_I love it,_

He thought when the other man stomped behind him, his heavy boots trailing the wooden corridor,

_Why is he like this?_

George was leaning on the entrance’s mahogany, his hand on the handle. He let the door open as Vamp walked closer.

To him.

Towering in height above George, with that aura of an untamed creature surrounding him. And yet, his creepy demeanour now seemingly appeared as just one quirk of the man.

Vamp tilted his head to attempt a kiss on his king’s lips, who received it without complaining.

“I’ll be here if you need me.”

The man hushed as their mouths parted. It was sweet, it was incredibly kind.

“We could,” George dared himself to play the game till the very end, to try everything he had on the table, “go out tomorrow. For dinner.”

His face was growing warmer by the second, but his eyes were sure. Sure that he wanted that.

He wanted that man.

“My pleasure,” Vamp brushed George’s cheek with the back of his hand, “king.”

He sneaked out of the flat, his brows up in a content expression as he shot one last smile at George, who was resting on the edge of the door, holding his breath in.

Vamp disappeared inside Helena’s apartment.

And the president was left alone to slowly close the door. He waited, letting out an excited sigh.

He tried to recollect his thoughts, he tried to calm down.

His cheeks were burning as a hand was covering his smiling mouth.

 

George Sears liked Vamp.

George Sears had fallen in love.


End file.
